A Change in the Weather
by DixieH
Summary: Alex gets bad news. Bobby gets good news. This is an Eames family drama set just about now. Complete in one chapter.


_I don't own the LOCI characters of course. The rest however are my own invention. Thanks to squarey's fiction "Bulletproof" for the weather that became this story._

_Although I haven't seen the last 3 or 4 episodes, I think this story would best be set right about now. - Dix_.

**A Change in the Weather**

It's the phone ringing that wakes me. It's ringing and ringing and for some damn reason voicemail is not picking up. Finally, I sit up on the edge of the bed and snap on the light. Then I understand. It rings until just before it goes to voicemail. Then, whoever is dialling disconnects and redials. It's ringing now and I don't want to pick it up. It's urgent. It's personal. It's going to be bad news and lately I've had exactly all the bad news and worst news I can stand. But it's ringing again and there's no way I can sleep through this. Proof of course because I'm awake and listening to the phone ring. So I snatch up the receiver out of the cradle.

"Hello."

"Eames? Where have you been?"

_Oh, right. Bobby. Just the person I want to talk to at - what the hell time is it? - 4:27 a.m._

"Asleep! Are you calling to chat?" I snap.

"I'm down stairs freezing my ass off - hang up and buzz me in."

"It's 4:30 in the morning Bobby. Go sleep it off somewhere else."

"I'm not drunk. Let me in."

His words are no longer proof enough. As I hang up the phone, I decide that if I so much as smell the alcohol in his aftershave, I'm gonna call the local PD and get them to send a car. I'm not up to baby-sitting Bobby Goren through another one of his self-loathing drunks.

I'm standing at the door in my t-shirt and shorts when I hear a tap on the other side. The tee is an out of date Arizona U shirt a friend sent me a dozen years ago. It's faded, soft, and not holey enough to get rid of yet. I eye Bobby suspiciously, as I open the door. He's looking at the t-shirt. He's got a dark jacket on, leather gloves and his knit cap pulled down low. The forecast was for more snow and colder temperatures, by the looks of him the weather prediction was right for once. Finally, I stand aside and he comes in nudging the door closed behind him.

He slides his big feet out of his boots on the mat. The soles are damp with melted snow.

"Come sit down," he says.

_I can't smell booze, but maybe it's as frozen as he is._

I pull out a kitchen chair and instantly wish I had on pants. The wooden surface is chilly. I'm guessing I'm not going back to sleep tonight. He sits across from me, still dressed for outside. He hasn't even slid out of his gloves. His cheeks are red from the cold and his nose is beginning to drip. He wipes the back of his leather glove across it once; then shuffles through his pockets and finally reaches across to the tissue box on the bookcase.

We sit there a minute more. I can hear the clock ticking; I can hear my heart beating, but he isn't saying anything.

"OK Bobby you're here. I'm awake. What couldn't wait until dawn?"

He clears his throat and looks everywhere but at me.

"Tim called me." He says.

_Tim. _I can't think of who he might be talking about. There isn't anyone in the squad with that name, - no recent perps - no recent vics. The only Tim I know … I look at him then and hold his gaze. Holy hell. The only Tim I know is my brother. I have to ask the question but I suddenly have no words and no voice to go with them.

"It's your mom," Goren says gently. "Tim asked me to get you to the hospital. There may not be much time."

Finally I manage a question "What happened?"

"Another stroke, maybe. Tim wasn't sure," he says. "You need to go get dressed." I look down at what I am wearing. He's right of course and so I shuffle off. When I come back, he's unbuttoned his jacket and pulled off his cap and gloves. He's standing in my kitchen opening doors like he's executing a search warrant. "You rearranged the cupboards," he says when he sees me. "I can't find the travel mugs."

I open the door over the sink and point to the top shelf. I can never reach the damn things, but he doesn't have any problem. He fills two, shuts off the coffee pot, pops the lids in place and then looks me over. "Hat," he says like he's helping a child, "and gloves" he adds. I don't like it, but I go get the hat and gloves and then follow him to the car.

--

We don't talk much on the way to the hospital. He drives with more care and attention than usual only running one red and two yellows. He drops me at the door and says he'll see me inside once he's parked. I know he means for me to go to intensive care on my own. He wants to be in the background. He knows that I carry my work problems home to my family, my family of cops. And he knows that even after I get over his latest stunt, my family holds on to the offence. But for some reason, I can't go forward without his gentle pressure on my arm. He finds me inside the doors staring into space. The hospital with its florescent lights and yellowed linoleum is like a death sentence and I can't bear to be in the hallways alone.

Tim and Cheryl are in the hall outside her room when we get there. Cheryl's head is bowed. I can't tell whether she's sleeping, praying or crying. Tim sees us immediately. He has a world-weary look. He's been a cop a long time and an oldest child longer. Every family problem he carries like baggage. He stands when we draw closer. Cheryl looks up and manages a small smile. He gives me a brief hug and shakes Bobby's hand.

"Thanks for getting her here." He says. He's genuine, but Bobby doesn't hear it.

"How is she?" I ask, trying for professional detachment.

He shrugs. "The doctor's been in. He didn't say much." Tim stalls then and runs his eyes over Bobby. "She asked for the family and for her lawyer. " I raise one eyebrow and then let it go. "You can go in, Dad is with her. "

I nod and head with heavy feet to the doorway. Dad's version of sitting with her is to read her the sports page aloud. Her eyes are closed and her face is peaceful. I can't really imagine she cares much about hockey scores, but you never know. I hesitate in the doorway.

"Alexandra." He says when he sees me. "You didn't have to come in a rush." He always does this. He belittles my effort and makes me feel useless. Slowly I'm learning not to buy it.

"I'm here now Dad. Can I sit with her a while?"

He nods and carefully folds the sections of the paper back together. He leans in to kiss her and her eyes flutter momentarily.

"She's been asking for you." He allows.

I take his place beside her bed. I take her hand, which has all the warmth of a frozen Christmas turkey. She blinks her eyes open at my touch. "Death by sports scores." I'm sure she says. Her speech is slurred and her mouth is crooked, but her eyes are full of life.

"I love you mom." I tell her, the tears clouding my vision.

"I love you." She replies. "You'll be ok," she says after a minute.

"So you always say."

"Always right." She replies with a twisted smile. I can't help but smile back. She has a way of comforting me that I've never found anywhere else.

For lack of the newspaper, I tell her that Bobby came to the apartment and picked me up.

"He drove?" She asks.

I nod. "Nearly needed a bed beside you he ran so many lights."

She shook her head. "I want to see him." I can hardly refuse her, but I wonder if perhaps Bobby has had enough of hospitals and dying mothers.

When I beckon him from the doorway, he's leaning peacefully against the wall across from the nurses' station. Tim and Dad have their heads together talking… He's far enough away to give them the illusion of privacy but hospital corridors are like telephone wires and sound is transmitted easily from end to end. He comes when he sees me wave.

In the room, I draw him close to the bed so she can see him. I'm not surprised that she has asked for him. She's always taken his part. "Oh Alexandra" she says when I complain about his ways. "He's a good person with a big heart. I'm sure he didn't mean it like that." She's invited him for dinner nearly every month since his mom died. He only came once. He can stand nose to nose with a crazy person holding a gun, but my family terrifies him. I can relate.

She's talking quietly to Bobby. He's having some difficulty understanding her; he's tilting his head and leaning in. "I promise" I hear him say and then realize that I haven't heard to what he's committed himself.

A couple of hours later Bobby drags me away to the cafeteria and watches me eat what he considers to be enough breakfast. Afterwards I use his cell phone to arrange a leave of absence of unknown length. He talks to the Captain just long enough to arrange a single personal day. I turn away, embarrassed, because I've treated him abysmally over the last few months. I feel undeserving of his time or attention. As the day progresses, he takes me for rambling walks through hospital corridors and for more meals I don't want to eat. He even sits beside me while I sit with my mom. He seems to know what I need and what I want. I wonder if my sparse concern gave him any comfort while he sat long hours with his own mother.

In the end she doesn't last. This period of volubility and candour lasts long enough for my youngest brother John to arrive from Pennsylvania early in the evening. Once she's seen all of us kids, she fades quickly and by the next morning, she's gone.

Bobby drives me home and makes me scrambled eggs and whole-wheat toast. We sit at the kitchen table together. He spoons the eggs onto the toast and folds it into a messy sandwich, while I carefully eat every curd of egg before touching the toast. We're different in every conceivable way. After the meal and the dishes, my energy is suddenly gone. He walks through my bedroom, a place he's never been before, in order to turn on the taps to my bathtub. I sit uneasily on the bed watching him go and come back. The steam is rising over the tub.

"I'll head out" he says with a nod towards the door.

"Thanks," I say. It's not enough but for now, it's all I have.

He phones every day, usually talking to voicemail. I call him back a couple of times, to let him know first when the service will be and where and then a day or two later once I've decided when to return to work. I call Captain Ross too, but I don't tell Bobby.

I see him at the service. He's alone. Ross and a few others from the squad are there sitting together, but Bobby is alone near the back. I see him before the family marches down the aisle. I want to sit with him. I want to lean on his arm and hide my hand in his. I steal myself for the preamble and hardly glance his way as we pass him by.

Afterwards there are coffee and sandwiches in the basement of the church. I am numb and thirsty, but there is a line up of old friends from the neighbourhood and old neighbours too who wait their patient turn to say the same thing to me. "We're so sorry, dear. But what a blessing that she didn't linger." I want very badly to scream at them.

I don't think of him at all, I just deal with the line up and stifle the thirst. When the line begins to diminish slightly, I feel a jostle and he steps between me and a sweet old thing in a matching purple hat and coat. He doesn't say anything, just hands me first a glass of water. It's one of those narrow short plastic tumblers that hold barely enough to wet a tongue. I down it in one. He takes the empty glass and puts a mug of tea in my hand. It's hot, sweet, and wet and keeps me on my feet until I see him again two hours later. He's standing on the street when I come out of the church. I'm with Tim and Dad. Cheryl took the girls and left an hour ago.

"I'm parked down there." He waves his hand. "Do you need a ride?"

"We're going to Tim's for supper." I say with a nod to Dad and Tim who are standing right there. "Likely take out Chinese or something. Will you come?"

"No," he says with a firm shake of the head.

"Thanks for coming today." Tim says and reaches out to shake his hand. It's a dismissal and for some reason it makes me angry.

Dad puts his hand out. "I'm very sorry for your loss." Bobby says quietly.

"Come for supper." Dad says with a nod to me. "It'll do that one good to have you around. And" he says "there's something I need to talk to you about after supper." I hear the words and think he's speaking to me, but his eyes are on Bobby. Whatever it is, it's news to Tim too.

Bobby nods by way of an answer.

"I'll follow you," he says.

"I've gotta stop for gas. Take Alexandra she knows the way."

"Of course."

The house is crowded with children and extended family. Dad disappears as soon as he gets through the door. He naps until dinner arrives. I introduce Bobby to a couple of my cousins and my Aunt Lex. Lex is my mother's sister. She's a spinster she tells Bobby. Never needed a man around the house for long. He grins and she takes to him. I find the liquor and pour two glasses of scotch. To mine I add an ice cube and take Bobby's to him neat. I find a footstool in the corner to sit on. I try to sip the drink, but everything in me wants to get very drunk very soon. By the time the food arrives, Bobby has a circle of small devotees for whom he's doing magic tricks. There's the coin behind the ear, and the scarf up the sleeve and then a knock knock joke. They're grateful for the attention and the levity. Cheryl serves the food buffet style, but Bobby fills my plate and delivers it. He sits near me. Faithful. Unfortunately, I have no appetite. All I want is another drink and a bath and my bed and perhaps the comfort of his arms around me. After he's eaten, I slide my mostly full plate into the garbage and follow him and my father into the guest bedroom.

We stand uncomfortably for a moment. My dad sits on the bed and I sit beside Him. Bobby settles on the only chair.

"Trisha always liked you," Dad said nodding at Bobby. "From the start."

He reached into his suit jacket and withdrew an envelope. He showed it to me. It had a lawyer's name in the right hand corner and Bobby's name and home address typed neatly in the centre.

"Her father died when she was in her teens. An uncle set aside some money for her to go to school. She never went," he said, "she married me instead. She set up a fund so the grandkids can go to college, but she had a little left over." He hands the envelope to Bobby.

Bobby turns it over and over in his hands, like it's a hot potato.

"It's very kind," he said clearly uncomfortable. "But I"

"Just open it," Dad said, "Open it so you understand."

Bobby tore the envelope open and slide out the single sheet. He read it through and by the end, there were tears in his eyes. "I'm very grateful sir. Thank you."

My dad gives me a one armed squeeze then gets to his feet. Bobby stands and they shake hands. When we're alone, Bobby asks, "Did you know?"

"I heard about the money and the uncle, but …"

He hands me the letter then. It isn't long. _"This is to inform you that a contribution to the Schizophrenia Society of America has received a contribution in the name of Frances Goren in the amount of 45,000.00."_

I'm stunned at the amount, but not at the gesture or the generosity. My mom was good people. I do everything I cannot to cry again, but when the tears come, Bobby settles beside me on the bed with one arm draped carefully around my shoulders. I lean into him and leave a damp spot on his dark suit.

He drives me home a little later. Aunt Lex kisses him on the cheek and hugs the breath out me. The devotees crowd around him and get one more smile and one more quarter. It all a little unreal. Dad makes a point of shaking his hand again and inviting himself to dinner at my place the next night.

On the way home, Bobby runs a red light and we miss the collision by inches. I swear, but he just grins.

"What's so funny?"

He glances my way, the smirk still apparent, "I promised your mom I'd be more careful, especially when you're in the car. I guess it's time I kept my promise."

I smack him just once on the arm with the back of my hand and begin to laugh. At least it starts out as a laugh. He pulls over and is honked at for his trouble. I fall into his arms and he holds me until the tears subside. Unfortunately, they start again when he hands me the keys.

Fin

_Thanks for reading. - Dix._


End file.
